Whiskey
by pandabomber
Summary: He captured my jaw in a firm grip, completely immobilizing me. I tasted the alcohol on his tongue, bitter and intoxicating. Furious, I bit down on his lower lip mercilessly... Damn you, Craig Tucker, for tasting like Jack Daniel's.  graphic crenny
1. Whiskey

It was hot and stuffy. That was fine; I had asked for this. _She_ had asked for this… especially when she claimed ownership of _him_.

"Nngh… Kenny!" She breathed heavily, gasping for air through the kisses. I didn't like hearing her speak. She kept moaning. I bit her neck to shut her up, but it only made her squeal.

"Ow, that hurt!" She tried to giggle, but I could tell it really did hurt. Good. She deserved it.

It wasn't difficult to take her top off. It had a zipper up the front. Slut.

"Mm… yes… Kenny…" She had great tits, I'll give her that. They were fucking huge.

When I slipped my hand up her skirt, she practically begged. I didn't think she would be so goddamn horny. She'd been banging Craig for weeks; how deprived could she be? I guess it's never enough for the fucking nympho. After all, she kept making plays at Kyle and Stan. The stupid bitch had no idea what didn't belong to her.

There was a knock at the door. I hadn't bothered to lock it; I didn't give a shit if people saw. Everyone knew she was a slut.

"Fuck off," I called out gruffly. She laughed and tugged my shirt off over my head.

The door flew open, smashing against the wall with a loud bang. In the doorway, drunk as I've ever seen him, stood Craig.

The party raged outside, but the world inside that bathroom was silent. The only light poured through the open door, illuminating two topless, drunken blondes panting for fresh air.

"Bebe," Craig practically whispered, his voice poison. "Get the fuck out."

She didn't dare disobey. Quietly, she gathered her clothes and fled the room. The moment she was gone, Craig slammed the door shut and locked it with a click.

I leaned against the sink counter top, not bothering to put my shirt back on. I kept calm, even after Craig's angry gaze shifted to me. Too bad for him, I'm fucking stubborn and won't let a little glaring shake me.

"You've got a lot of fucking nerve." He advanced slowly, deliberately. I kept still.

"Fuck you, Craig," I threw back, still reeling from being near Bebe, the skank of the century. "She's a whore. You can hardly blame me—"

"Shut the fuck up," Craig snapped, and I couldn't help but stop. "There's only one whore in the room now."

I opened my mouth to protest, but Craig swallowed my swears in a fierce kiss. He captured my jaw in a firm grip, completely immobilizing me. I tasted the alcohol on his tongue, bitter and intoxicating. Furious, I bit down on his lower lip mercilessly. Don't get me wrong, I liked it—but I was fucking pissed.

"Fuck. You." I growled, my face still held firmly in his hand. He looked down at me darkly. Fuck you, Craig, for being so damn tall. Fuck you for tasting like Jack Daniel's. "You've been screwing her for months."

"That's none of your business."

"And who I fuck is yours?"

"You're damn right it is!" Blood smeared his bottom lip as tiny droplets seeped from my bite. "You don't seem to understand, Kenny. You're mine."

I smirked. What a jackass. "No, _you_ don't seem to understand," I chided, trying to be as demeaning as possible. "I fuck who I want, when I want. I belong to no one. Besides, if you want an exclusive fuck buddy, you should probably stop sleeping with every whore who offers."

"Like you did?" I could tell that Craig was recalling our first raunchy encounter, a light smile betraying the rage in his eyes. "You forget who made the first move, McCormick."

"I didn't forget." I couldn't help but laugh, amazed at his annoyingly cocky and ridiculous behavior. "God, you're fucking hilarious. Just because we fooled around, you act like I'm your bitch. But _you_ forget that I made you scream my name over and over just using my mouth—"

I winced as Craig gripped my jaw even more fiercely and entwined his other hand in my messy hair, tugging back so I was forced to look up at him. Ignoring the pain, I met his eyes fiercely as he gritted his teeth, looking ready to beat the shit out of me. I had him really pissed now. Good, the asshole needed to be taken down a few pegs.

"What's wrong?" I teased. I wasn't finished with him; not by a long shot. "You don't like disobedience? Neither do I, Craig. So here are your choices: leave now and fuck everything that moves. I won't be upset, because if you choose that, I'll do the same. It's that, or zip up your goddamn pants and accept that you belong to _me_."

Craig looked capable of murder. "I fucking hate you, McCormick."

"Liar."

My knees buckled as Craig forced me down, his hands clenched on my shoulders. "Suck me off," he commanded, voice deep and urgent.

He was so predictable. He thought that because I was below him, he had won. What the idiot had forgotten was that he was trusting me to do what I wanted with his dick.

I unbuttoned his pants with ease, taking it slow enough to agitate him even more. He wasn't quite hard yet. With a smirk, I wrapped my fingers around him, using my fingers to stiffen him before taking him in my mouth. There was no need to rush; I knew him well enough to know that a little time-wasting helped in the end, no matter how much he hated it. However, it didn't take me long to stroke his cock rigid. The bastard was drunk and horny as fuck. If I could handle him sober, handling him shitfaced was no problem.

"Do it already," he grumbled impatiently, but he couldn't hide the desperate tinge to his tone. I chuckled lightly under my breath. It felt like I had already won a tiny victory even though the war had just begun.

With one hand clutching the base, I traced my tongue up the underside of his cock. Craig grunted immediately, his eyes shutting and his hands running through my disheveled hair. I circled my tongue slowly around the tip, taking my sweet time. I slid the tip of my tongue back down the shaft and followed with my mouth, finally taking him in after a little teasing. I licked and sucked as he wanted me to, but only until I felt his grip on my hair loosen. After he had dropped his guard, I snapped my head back and let my teeth drag on the top and bottom of his cock, scraping along the entire length. Craig hissed in pain, but it's not like I gave a shit. I wanted it to fucking hurt. He had no choice then but to try and resist my mouth— I had him completely locked in my jaw.

"Fucking… asshole…!" Craig was about to fight back, but I bit down harder, making him flinch and shudder.

My hand replaced my mouth and I kept a firm grip. "Rule one, Craig. Don't let anyone pissed at you near your dick."

I figured my work there was done. Craig understood not to fuck with me, and I had delivered punishment for his slutty behavior. I grabbed my shirt from the sink counter behind him and finally let him loose. I turned to the door and placed one hand on the handle before remembering it was locked. Before I could turn the lock, however, Craig seized both my wrists and slammed them forcefully above my head against the door, my balled up shirt falling to the tile. He was much taller and had bigger hands than me, so it wasn't too difficult for him to pin both wrists together under one of his hands.

"Don't think we're finished here, McCormick," he growled in my ear, his breath reeking of Jack Daniel's. I should have known he wouldn't accept defeat so easily.

A shock like an electric wire ran through my body as Craig wrenched my pants and boxers down to my ankles. The suddenness of it all and the feeling of exposed air on my naked body made me respond immediately. Despite my sensitivity, my head was wrapped in an intoxicated haze; everything happened so quickly that I wondered if I was a little drunk. I had hardly had enough to get me tipsy (the amount would have trashed the average person) but as I heard Craig spit on his hands, I was strangely submissive and compliant. Normally, I take the reins in fucking around, but Craig's aggressiveness has a knack for turning me into a goddamn kitten.

He soaked his fingers using his mouth and mine. Greedily, I sucked on his fingers, making sure they were covered in warm saliva before he snatched his hand back. I knew what was coming, but I still couldn't prepare myself for it.

I groaned into the door as he shoved one finger into me. I felt him wriggle and push deeper, hardly wet enough for it to be comfortable. Every shift in depth sent sparks up my spine and down my legs. It felt raw and rushed, but Craig wasn't one for taking it easy.

Just when I was getting used to one, I felt the finger rush back out and jam back in, but this time, much thicker. In his impatience, Craig must have jumped from one finger to three. I groaned as he changed from thrusting to scissoring, every repetitive stroke stretching me uncomfortably, but not unpleasantly.

"Ugh… shit…" I crinkled my brow in an effort to brace myself. The dull ache and the strange sensation of something foreign making its way inside me was still something I wasn't used to, even after fucking around with Craig a few times. Maybe if he took it a bit slower, I would be. But who needs to get used to sex? That's taking all the fun out.

Even if my ass wasn't used to being toyed with, there was something different this time. There was an odd burn accompanying Craig's fingers as they worked to stretch me out. Craig was sucking at my neck harshly and occasionally biting my ear as small payback for before. His breath rushed against the side of my face and bounced off the door in front of me. With a light gasp, I realized that the alcohol on his breath and in his spit was inside of me. I was only tipsy, but with the heat contained in the bathroom, I might as well have been wasted.

The pain from three fingers had faded. I had been angling my hips as he pumped his hand into me, looking for that one spot that made me see stars. When he withdrew, I nearly moaned in protest. Groggily, I heard Craig spit on his hand again. I turned to look as Craig rubbed his spit up and down his cock, getting it nice and wet. The anticipation was killing me. Before Craig, I had never thought it possible that I would ever be desperate to have my ass fucked.

Craig didn't need to keep my wrists restrained anymore. I had braced my hands against the door of my own free will. At first, it had been a struggle for dominance; now, it was just two horny guys who couldn't wait to fuck like mad. Craig grabbed my hips tightly and pulled my ass closer to him. I was bent over for him in anticipation, my whole body screaming for him to just hurry the fuck up and enter me.

"Do it," I whispered hurriedly with just a short glimpse behind. Craig hadn't taken off any of his clothes and had only exposed his cock by slightly pulling down his pants.

I saw him flash a smile briefly before aligning himself and plunging in.

"Fuck!" I yelled as I swallowed him to the hilt. If blood was trickling down my legs, which I expected it was, I didn't care. I panted and managed to breath out, "…again!"

Craig snapped his hips fiercely to draw out almost completely. He paused a second before shoving back in exactly as he had done before.

I gritted my teeth and shuddered as I exhaled. The pain was definitely overwhelming, but it was mixed with an irreplaceable gratification I was greedy for. It was like I was being invaded and filled and wrecked all at once. "Fuck… yes… just like that…" I exclaimed, finally breathless as he crashed into my good spot over and over.

Craig dug his fingers into my hips in a way that would leave bruises. He slammed into me and wrenched me towards him at the same time, doubling the power of the thrusts. My body tingled deliciously at the contact of every deep penetration. Without thinking, I began to touch myself to the rhythm of Craig's movements, creating pleasure in the front and back that matched up perfectly. My head was becoming very blank very fast, and if Craig found a way to get deeper, I wouldn't last long.

"I want it deeper…" I said in between thrusts, my words a wheezed whisper on my breath.

Craig grabbed a handful of my hair and yanked my head back. I don't know how, but Craig seemed to know that I really, really like having my hair pulled, even though it hurts like a mother fucker. Most likely, he has no idea how much I love it. He just wants to make me hurt. I fucking hate Craig.

"What was that?" Craig growled as he forced my head closer and around to look at him.

The son of a bitch really enjoyed having me pinned and doubled over. It sounds gay, but his eyes literally sparkled, like he had won a goddamn lottery. I glared at him and tasted the sweat dripping from my forehead. "I said I want it deeper, you fucking asshole!"

Just to spite me, Craig withdrew. I knew he wouldn't leave me wanting for long, however, since there was no way either of us was stopping at this point; he only pulled out so he could snatch my hair again, even more viciously this time. Without warning, he shoved me into the sink counter hard. I had zero balance— after all, my pants were still caught around my ankles above my shoes. Plus, after all the aggressive attention paid to my ass, I wasn't exactly quick on my feet. I collided harshly with the counter's edge, losing the little breath I had on impact. When I finally managed to suck in more air, I used the precious oxygen to swear loudly.

"Mother fucker…!"

"You like it."

I seriously fucking hate Craig.

He didn't give me much time to prepare for another round. Before I could fully regain my breath or my senses, I felt him push into me again, his hands grasping my thighs. He shoved my legs up and apart so that my feet barely touched the ground. The only things I could do were take timed breaths, grab the large silver faucet in front of my face with both hands, and brace myself.

For once, Craig was compliant. I asked for it deeper, and that's what I got. It was also harder— my entire lower body was lifted and fell onto Craig like deadweight after each thrust.

"Ow… fuck… fucking hurts…" I bit my lip and shut my eyes tightly, letting every movement resound throughout my body. I ached, burned, and throbbed, but I had never felt so filled up in my entire life.

"Fucking pussy," Craig muttered, taunting me and fucking me without missing a beat.

Honestly, his nerve was pissing me off. How many times has he taken it up the ass like a champ? The correct answer would be never. I didn't bother to tell him this, though. It was too many words. In response, I only whispered: "I hate you."

The lack of swearing pissed Craig off more than if I had included a little name-calling. Without swearing, there was no hiding the meaning of the sentence.

"That so? Fine." He leaned down enough that his head was close to mine and his chest rested on my back. I couldn't be sure, but I thought I felt his heavy heartbeat. "But next time you decide to fuck some slut, remember this: no one can do this to you but me. I'm the only one who can fuck you so hard that you can't even fucking walk."

It's sick, but his words turned me on more than any touch. He had practically mumbled into my ear; it wasn't like he was eloquent or some shit— just cocky with the skill to back it up. But that was more than enough.

I felt something hot creeping up my neck, and at first I paid it no attention. It was only when his breath suddenly fogged the mirror that I noticed Craig was trailing his tongue up my neck, slowly tracing the veins and detecting my erratic pulse. The whiskey on his breath traveled across my cheek and past my hands, the pungent smell swirling my head into a thicker mess. During a particularly hard thrust, Craig snapped my head back by knotting his fist through my hair. The combination of friction, depth, and pain was too much for me. I moaned embarrassingly loud, and the sound seemed to echo in the tiny, sweltering bathroom.

I couldn't see Craig smirk, but I could feel it. Not instinctively—he had begun alternating between biting and sucking my shoulder and I could sense his lips curling on my skin. He tugged my hair back with each thrust after that just to hear me gasp every time.

"I know you fucking love that," he whispered slowly in my ear, an even cockier asshole than usual.

"Ugh… fuck…. I do…" I mumbled, too overwhelmed to bother with the bullshit of an actual comeback. I was losing it.

Craig could tell. I don't know how he did it, but he managed to speed up even more, his hand still gripping my hair for dear life. At that point, every thrust was like a fucking delicious torture. Sweat dripped from my knotted brow in beads. All sense of embarrassment was gone; I was moaning and cursing freely, totally oblivious to everything except the feeling in my lower body.

"Craig… I'm coming…"

At my words, Craig grabbed my dick and matched his hand with his thrusts.

No joke, I think I saw God.

"FUCK!" I screamed as I came, and Craig didn't let up. He was going to get his share too, and in the process, it was making my orgasm fucking long. My entire body was buzzing, and it just didn't stop.

In a haze, I figured I would help him along. Biting my lip, I focused on his thrusts and clamped down.

"Ugh…" Craig grunted as he felt me get tighter. There was no way he wouldn't come with the service I was providing.

By a stroke of luck—seriously, I don't know how he did it—Craig managed to pull out and come on my leg. It was the perfect ending because seriously, I've had shit go down down there, and it's not pretty.

Craig sighed. "Fuck…"

Silence filled the thick air of the tiny bathroom. We came down from our climax breathing in the same rhythm, Craig's hands still gripping my thigh and hair. Neither of us had the energy or inclination to move at all. In a daze, I opened my eyes and glimpsed our reflection in the foggy mirror: my neck was fucked up with suck and bite marks, and both of us were coated in sweat.

I didn't know, but Craig had been supporting the weight of my legs the entire time. He slowly lowered my feet to the floor, trying to allow me to gain balance. I immediately crumpled to the ground.

"Shit, McCormick!" With a harsh whisper that barely masked his concern, Craig zipped his pants and got on his knees to inspect me. I had just collapsed on the ground, a total mess. I didn't feel the need to clean myself, cover myself, or even think. "Are you…?"

"NO I'M NOT FUCKING OKAY."

"Shit…"

"CLEAN ME UP, YOU DICK."

"Yeah, yeah."

What an ass. Even after literally fucking me until I couldn't walk, he responded to my insults with an attitude.

He grabbed some toilet paper and got busy. I watched, my head sideways on the floor and my vision still blurry. "I bet you aren't this fucking rough with Bebe."

"Don't talk about that whore."

I stared at him. "I bet you can't fuck her that hard."

"Stop talking about her." His voice got angrier. Like I gave a shit.

"Why?" I grinned lightly. "Fucking her is finally something we have in common."

Craig grabbed my chin and turned my head swiftly. I expected something harsh, but all I got was a light kiss. It wasn't tender or some shit like that—just subdued, like I was breakable. Fuck, I guess I was.

Whatever it was for, it worked. I shut up.

"Fuck Bebe. Fuck her. Okay?"

I couldn't see his face clearly when he said it. He had turned to throw something away. For a few moments after, I silently waited to see his expression. He didn't turn. He didn't even have a fucking reason to stay with his back to me; he just did. His shoulders were tense and he wasn't even trying to make an excuse for his obvious avoidance of revealing whatever stupid look he had on his smug face.

I laughed lightly. He is so embarrassing. "Yeah, fuck her."

Finally, Craig looked at me. He seemed pleased. Then again, he had just delivered a very thorough fuck and he was still a little drunk, so his life was just fucking swell.

He immediately fell back into his usual role of the sarcastic asshole. "Anything else I can do for you, Kenny McCormick?"

I glared, but I don't think I meant it.

"You better get used to carrying my ass around, Tucker."

* * *

summary of the fic's events:

titties titties titties

OMG. WTF IS GOING ON.

rabble rabble rabble

PANTSOFF.

BANG BANG BANG BANG

BAAAAAAAAAAAAANG.

*die*

despite it's ridiculously graphic and smutty nature, I WILL BE ADDING ANOTHER CHAPTER AT LEAST. Why? Sexual reasons.

hope you liked this attempt at smut. =)


	2. Weed

Out of all the notorious sluts in this town, Kenny McCormick is the worst.

I'm not talking about the number of partners. I'm not even talking about the partners' gender. It's how he treats them. For all I know, he's never rejected or been cruel to any of them. He strings them along, gives them his charming grin, and loves every bit of them equally, indiscriminately. He has no favorites. He comes when they call, does everything in his power to make them feel good, and will even cuddle after all is done. He makes them believe he loves them, and maybe he does— but he will never give any of them the exclusive treatment they want. They will always just be another hot casual fuck. Usually, that's exactly where they want to be. It makes them feel special.

What they don't know is that there is one person McCormick hates. There is only one person he insults with his talented tongue, bruises with his coarse hands, and glares at with his sharp blue eyes.

None of those stupid fuckers are special at all.

* * *

My phone buzzed obnoxiously in my pocket. I fucking hate text messages; they're usually from some dumb bitches desperate for attention. There's only one reason why I even bother to pay for the service.

_Get the fuck over here._

I couldn't help smiling to myself. So, he wants me. It's always a pleasant ego boost when he demands me rather than the countless other hook ups he has. This was the first time in awhile; he didn't try to contact me after the night I caught him sucking face with Bebe. I was pretty shitfaced that night, but I remember it well enough to know that he practically demanded we fucking go steady or something. He was so jealous, it was kind of cute. I figured he was embarrassed after all that and gave him time to think it over, but I guess he was ready to see me again. He probably missed my fat cock in his ass.

It took me thirty minutes to get to the shitty McCormick house. I would have bolted into my pickup the second I got that message— his ass is that tight and awesome— but I didn't want to seem desperate. At the door, I just let myself in. They rarely lock anything in that house since no one wants to steal any of their crappy shit. I don't even have to worry about his family; his parents are close to passing out in the nearest bar at this hour and his siblings avoid coming home as much as possible.

I walked into his room without hesitation, dodging the cat in the hallway. I began to wonder if he'd been hitting the cheese again, but my thoughts were interrupted quickly by a familiar asshole's voice.

"Took you long enough, dickhead."

McCormick was sitting on his bed, wearing a tattered pair of jeans and nothing else. His usual orange parka was tossed lazily on the floor. I grinned smugly at the sight of him. His body is the main reason he's so well-fucked. He's a skinny son of a bitch, but not scrawny, and his ass is just phenomenal. He even has a great face. His blond hair was getting a little long and out of control, but seriously, I have absolutely no complaints when it comes to that body. I sometimes wonder how a dude can drive me so crazy, but then I walk in his house and see his sweet ass in a pair of jeans begging to be ripped off and it all makes sense again. He probably tried jacking off earlier, hoping for some relief, but couldn't get it without me. I bet he pulled on those pants at the last second when he heard my truck pull up in the driveway. I bet he's too poor to even afford underwear or the water to wash them.

"Want some of this?" I nearly yelled FUCK YEAH— but then I realized he was talking about the joint in his mouth, not himself. "This is the dank medical shit."

"Nah, I'm good."

With one hand stuffed in a side pocket, McCormick stared at me silently. He did that a lot. It kind of weirded me out, especially since I know that when he does that, he's thinking about me, but not in a sexual way. When Kenny McCormick is watchful and contemplative, it means he's trying to judge or determine something, like a fucking scientist looking under a microscope— especially since his raw, completely unhidden stare can make big guys feel small. Not me, but other, lesser guys.

Finally, he slowly climbed off the bed and sauntered over to the doorway where I was standing. His blue eyes never left my face. I stayed expressionless, but I could already feel the anticipation. We both knew why I came over.

Without a word, he took a big hit from the joint, smiled, and pulled my head down to meet his lips. I invaded his mouth immediately out of habit, greedy for his taste. What I got was enough smoke to set off a fucking alarm. I shoved him away, coughing and pissed off.

"What the fuck, McCormick?"

"It's good. I'm just sharing."

I coughed once more before responding. "You fucking dick, I didn't want any!"

"Well, someone has to finish this thing. I was going to suck your cock once the joint was done," he said casually, like it was an everyday thing. God, I wish it was. "But I guess you can let me smoke it myself and wait a good twenty minutes, maybe more. I don't care either way."

Who the hell takes that long to smoke one joint? Whatever. "Give me that fucking thing."

I don't really like smoking. It makes me sluggish and slows my body down while leaving my mind irritatingly sharp. I just feel fucking tired and lazy. But my options were wait twenty minutes for the master of blowjobs or hurry things the fuck up, and I don't like waiting. With my help, the joint was gone in no time.

I sat against the cold metal bars of the bed, groggy. I really don't like smoking. I was getting a headache and my throat was dry.

"Where's that fucking ash tray?" The entire upper half of McCormick's body was out of view as he shuffled around the random shit under his bed, his legs sprawled over the sheets so he didn't tumble headfirst onto the filthy floor. I wanted to grab that ass so badly— I mean, it was right there, totally within reach— but my body was just so heavy that I simply stared at it, hoping it would make its way over. I heard papers rustling and metal clinking, and it seemed like it would never end. He needed to stop fucking around over there and use those hands more productively. For example, they could be down my pants.

The shuffling stopped. "Found it," McCormick mumbled to himself, sounding a little too excited about it.

"Great," I replied loudly, not bothering to hide my annoyance. I rubbed my eyes, knowing full well that they were probably red as fuck, and sighed. "Now take off your fucking pants."

The mattress creaked as McCormick shifted. I listened, but my eyes were still shut. They were really dry and bothering me; I knew I hated smoking, but seriously, how can anyone fucking enjoy this shit—

There was cold metal around my wrist. I heard a soft cranking sound one normally only hears in stupid crime dramas. Shocked and curious, I opened my eyes to see that McCormick was straddling my lap, which was awesome, and had handcuffed my limp arm to a bar on the head post. Not so awesome.

"What… the fuck is this."

"It's a handcuff."

"I know that, dumbass. Are you fucking serious?"

"You think I'm joking?" The look on his face was entertained, that's for sure, but he seemed pretty damn serious.

"I hope you are," I grinned, mockingly apologetic, "because I'm not into this shit."

"I don't give a flying fuck what you want." McCormick grabbed my jaw with one hand fiercely, forcing my head to be still. "You had your fun last time, and now it's my turn. And don't even try to break out of it. I know handcuffs better than you ever will. That shit is staying put."

I glared, furious. The little piece of shit knew I was too uncoordinated after the joint to be effective in any struggle. He had had this planned out from the beginning. "Unlock it, or I will ruin that fucking smirk on your face with my free hand."

McCormick laughed. "I could easily take care of that free hand, you know, but I thought I would be nice." Still straddling me, he grasped my free wrist and brought my hand up to the perfectly shaped masterpiece that is his ass. I couldn't help myself. I had to grab it.

As I gave his ass a good squeeze, McCormick kissed me. I may have been raging mad, but I loved the feel of those lightly chapped lips. His tongue tasted overwhelmingly like smoke and vaguely of beer. I could hardly remember my anger until I tried to feel up his body with my hands—the clink of the metal handcuffs kept my reach under control, which pissed me the fuck off.

Despite what I wanted, our make out didn't last long. He grinned as he pulled away slowly, leaving me restless and unsatisfied. I wanted to grab that mess of blond hair and keep those lips right where I wanted them—first on mine, then on my dick. But I had a feeling that any disobedience would leave me handcuffed to a bed alone for a night.

"Don't worry," McCormick said softly as he made his way down the bed. "I make good on my promises."

Fuck yes— he's going down on me.

The anticipation of a blowjob is enough to get me excited. I don't think anyone can say they've truly experienced a good blowjob until they've been lucky enough to have Kenny fucking McCormick do it. The shit he can do with his tongue is incredible.

McCormick licked his lips as he undid my belt. He unbuttoned and unzipped my pants at an unbearably slow pace, like he was trying to drive me crazy. I wanted to rip my pants off with one hand somehow, but I was worried of crossing some kind of line and getting the ultimate punishment. So I just watched. I watched McCormick pull my pants down on either side of my hips and wrench my boxers down with his teeth. I watched him take the head of my cock in slowly, his lips wet with saliva and his tongue warm. I watched him lick down my shaft, his lips following every movement until my dick was as far into his throat as it could go.

At that point, I stopped watching and just started feeling.

I swear, the slut has no fucking gag reflex.

Even though I was concerned that the slightest mistake on my part would end everything, my mind went a little blank. My free hand made its way into McCormick's messy blond hair. I didn't need to guide his head movements— he somehow knows exactly what pace to go at— but I wanted every thrust stronger, more intense. My hips began bucking up subconsciously, thrusting into McCormick's hot mouth. With every head bob back, I tugged McCormick's hair; it turns him on like nothing else. I'm not oblivious. I've figured out that the hornier he gets, the better he performs.

It had only been a few minutes, but I was already starting to feel that awesome rushing sensation in my lower body. I was so close to coming, I hardly had any strength. My grip in McCormick's hair was pathetic. I allowed my senses to escalate, riding the wave of pleasure submissively— but right as I was about to come, my cock felt bare and cold. It sure as hell did not encourage any release.

Confused, I opened my eyes, slightly panting. McCormick was on his knees again, a tiny bit of saliva on the side of his lips. He smiled.

"Not yet."

You have got to be fucking kidding me.

With the same cruel grin plastered on his face, McCormick unbuttoned his filthy jeans. He maneuvered himself just out of my reach. Wordlessly, he tugged his pants down to his thighs, one hand immediately moving in a rhythm on his cock and the other touching his lips. As he started touching himself, I said nothing, my brain struck stupid by the lewd sight of him. It was like his entire existence was created just for sex. He kept his eyes closed, but once in a while he would sneak one eye open to glance at me, and all I could think was that he was the most depraved, sex-starved, and dangerous person I had ever met. I couldn't get enough of it.

I sat dumbfounded, my entire body buzzing with arousal, frustration, and weed, and all I could do was watch. I noticed every single movement McCormick made, even the subtle twists of his tongue as he slowly let two fingertips slide between his lips, the same saliva that had slickened my dick coating his fingers. I knew exactly what he was doing that for. Sure enough, when he removed them, they were slippery with spit, tiny trails bridging the space between his middle and index finger. With just enough hesitation to drive me insane, he slipped his saliva-coated fingers between the cheeks of his tight ass, his right hand still jerking up and down in the front. As he shoved the fingers in, the lightest gasp left his mouth, and his eyes squeezed closed tightly, like he was imagining something completely different than wet fingers entering him. I was beginning to think McCormick was crueler than I could ever be.

He bit his lip to keep the moans quiet, but soon his expert fingers had wriggled right to the perfect spot. He didn't keep quiet for long.

"F-Fuck…" McCormick mumbled hoarsely as his hands quickened. Propped on his knees, he greedily sunk them farther apart on the mattress, spreading his legs and allowing his fingers easier movement in the back. "Feels… so fucking… amazing…"

Watching him brought on so many conflicting feelings, I wondered if I was going to last. On one hand, I enjoyed seeing him be the little slut he was; but on the other, the handcuff was chilling my wrist and sparking indescribable frustration in my head and dick. I needed him to touch me. I wouldn't forgive him if he didn't touch me after putting on such a show.

"McCormick, for God's sake…" I growled, trying to keep an aggressive tone so he wouldn't notice just how desperate I was getting.

"You can only watch," he whispered as he laughed breathlessly. "Look, don't touch, fuckface."

I was going to kill him. As soon as he was done being so damn sexy, I was going to murder him with my bare fucking hands. As soon as I had gotten the satisfaction of entering and wrecking his ridiculously fuckable body, he was a dead man.

For now, I settled for my hand. It was a big mistake.

Without so much as a word of warning, McCormick grabbed my wrist viciously and tore my hand away from my uncomfortably hard dick. "I fucking told you," he hissed harshly, his flushed face set in a glare. "I fucking _told you_, didn't I?"

I stared back, refusing to be apologetic. What did the asshole think, that I was his toy or something?

McCormick inched his knees forward just enough to settle well within my reach. I was reluctant to do anything just yet. I figured he would tell me what he wanted.

"Suck me off. Now."

I kept staring at him. It was hard to avoid glancing at his dick, since it was practically shoved in my face, but I kept my eyes fixed on his face out of pride. There was no way in hell I was going to be his bitch. It was just fucking wrong.

"Do it well, and I'll let you come."

I see nothing wrong with compromise.

With my free hand, I reached up and held the base of his dick. I'm not exactly well-practiced in giving blowjobs. I don't dole them out like McCormick does. However, I know what I think feels good, so at least I have some notions to go off of. With a quick mental shrug, I brought my mouth to the tip of McCormick's cock and took it in.

Okay, so saying I'm not well-practiced in blowjobs is an understatement. I don't _give_ blowjobs. At all. Craig fucking Tucker doesn't get on his knees for anyone. It's fine for McCormick to do it, since he pretty much lives and breathes sex and has had so many partners I can't even imagine the shit he's done; I don't give a shit as long as I know he's clean and ready for fucking. But me? I'm the one who _does_ the fucking. Everyone else just takes it. This was a special case, since McCormick was playing merciless mind games. Plus, if it's him, I don't really mind. He's given me so many blowjobs that I think one in return is not too much to expect.

That's not to say that this shit is ever going to be a regular occurrence.

"Watch the teeth, you fucking idiot," McCormick spit the words at me hurriedly, his hands grabbing my hair so tightly I almost winced. My usual winter chullo was stuffed away in my car, but my dark hair was still flattened from wearing the hat for so long. "Fuck… yeah, take it in more. Like that," he mumbled between moans.

I thought I was doing a pretty good job for my first time. My optimism was crushed early on. "This is your first time doing this, isn't it?" McCormick asked with a laugh. It was a piercing, judging, shrill laugh that knocked the confidence right out of me. Strangely enough, it didn't shrink my boner one bit. "I'm right, aren't I? It's the first time you've had a cock in your mouth. But I told you, you have to do it well, didn't I? That's what I said," he chided softly, chuckling in between words.

He was cruel. He was the biggest asshole I had ever met in my life. I have no idea why so many people adore him and treat him like their own personal god. Past the body dripping with sex appeal, the sly grin, and the slick words, he was nothing but a huge dick with no redeeming qualities. He never even tries to treat me like a friend or a lover. Everyone else he fucks gets the full, wonderful treatment. I get the vicious asshole with a light kink for humiliation, submission, and pain. I get the real, uncensored shit. For some reason beyond me, I wouldn't have it any other way.

McCormick's fist wrenched my hair up suddenly, snapping my attention from his dick to his face. I looked up at him, still tasting him inside my mouth, and waited patiently for him to speak. I hoped for his approval like a trained puppy. "Don't worry, Tucker," McCormick grinned sweetly. "I'll teach you."

His fingers curled in my hair harshly. Keeping my head firmly in place, he leaned down slowly so I could hear his brief but very important instructions: "Just breathe through your nose."

McCormick dragged my head back quickly and drew almost completely out of my mouth before slamming back in. A light moan shook my throat in surprise. I shut my eyes as my gag reflex threatened to react, but before I could shut down the horrible, looming feeling of being sick, McCormick slammed deep into my throat again. Desperately, I took a deep breath through my nostrils. He was right; it was the only thing that made it bearable. My voice escaped in soft moans as I felt his other hand weave into my hair. With two hands at the base of my scalp, McCormick fucked my face harder and faster each time, putting more strength into each thrust until I felt his fingers curl. He tore a few threads of my dark hair right off me as he came, exploding straight down my throat. The sensation was warm, strange, and a little salty. I didn't like it, but I was happy he was done.

"Drink it," McCormick instructed strictly, holding my head in a firm two-handed grip. I complied without protest, looking straight at him as I swallowed. He grinned. "Good boy…" he murmured happily. His hands immediately became soft and gentle. His left drifted to the back of my neck, where he began to lay little nibbles and kisses, and his right went straight for my dick. "You did well…"

I was so happy he was touching me that I kept silent. I felt him leave hickeys on my neck, collarbone, and shoulder, and I didn't care. I loved how his hand felt moving up and down my dick. I loved the attention he was giving me, and the little phrases of encouragement and praise I got for being so good and obedient. When I came, I came hard, and I was more than happy to sink into the mattress and drift as McCormick took care of unlocking my wrist and cleaning up the mess. The weed, excitement, and final climax had taken everything out of me.

It was only when I woke up a few hours later, with McCormick asleep and clinging to my arm like I was a fucking pet, that I realized that he had turned me into that. I had been his fucking pet. Or even worse, his fucking toy. I had let him talk me in to smoking his weed, chain me up, tease me mercilessly, fuck me in the mouth, and drink his fucking _cum_. At that point, I had every right to beat the shit out of him, or at the very least wake his ass up for some groggy fucking.

But I didn't. I probably should have, and now that I'm in my right mind, I would have—the weed was probably still screwing up my senses— but I didn't. I just watched him sleep for a few seconds in his same filthy jeans. I wondered why he had let me sleep over in his bed. I wondered how many people had fucked him, like me. I wondered how I was different from the rest of them, or if I really was at all. Finally, I wondered how I could make him want me so badly that no one else would do.

After that, I simply closed my eyes again and went to sleep.

* * *

HOLY CRAP I FINALLY FINISHED THIS.

It's been rotting in my documents for the longest time. Holyfuckingshit... ugh.

First time, it was whiskey. This time, it's weed. These guys can't seem to stay sober. (I love it =P)

Most likely, this is the last installment. If I think of another idea to stretch into 4,000 words or so, then I'll do it, but I don't think I could. I have a tiny idea, but I don't think I'll go through with it. That's why this story is marked as complete. If I decide to add more, obviously I'll change it, but I don't want to mislead anyone.

I hope you enjoyed this and take a look at my stuff every once in awhile. I have other projects in the works... thoughI'mextremelylazyshhhhh

review if you want; I'll appreciate it!


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